Overcast, grayness sticks to the sky; white dirtied by the rain, lurking, threatening to burst.
Sun struggles to reappear.
I Know Why:
Heaped together strung like imperfectly corded beads, my days slip and scatter to the ground; tapping far off is the thought hidden that dispatches those rude awakenings that all is not well on the outside of the cocoon in which I have sequestered myself.
Never existed, except in geometry.
Disorder is the caveat that has to be simply accepted.
Slope downhill from here accelerated by lack of energy.
Jenny W. Andrews copyright 2022